


Wishes

by Amymel86



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Time Travel, jon is not amused
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:00:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29520528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: Anyway, tonight is THE night. He can feel it. She’d recently broken up with Harry but even Sansa has admitted to him that it was a long time coming AND he’d just gotten off the phone to her asking him to come over because she has something she wants to show him.What it actually is that she wants to show him, he does not know. Oh, he can imagine. But then he’s been imagining a hell of a lot when it comes to Sansa Stark.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 22
Kudos: 123





	Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo.... this one shot was originally going to be part of an A-Z of one shots I was working on but as I came up with more and more ideas for the letters, there turned out to be about 3 or 4 ideas that really took my interest in terms of longer fics so I've decided to change my focus to those instead. This one would have been 'W is for Wishes'..

Jon doesn’t believe in fate, or signs, or serendipity or any of that bullshit. But, he will admit that something is telling him that the time is right ‘ _to do the thing’_ now. ‘The thing’ in question being telling Sansa how he feels.

For years he’d stamp down those admirations – the desire she’d spark or the warm, glow-y feeling she’d ignite low in his belly – because she was his best friend’s sister, and Robb was (understandably) ridiculously protective of Sansa after she’d had a couple of bad experiences with guys in her teens and early twenties. When they’d all been younger, Jon had felt like if he had actually done anything about the way his best friend’s sister makes him feel, then he’d be compromising his friendship with Robb or some shit. He can sneer at his younger self now, but that possible betrayal had felt real at the time.

The current problem Jon faced was boyfriend-shaped – specifically, Sansa’s boyfriend, Harry. What kind of a douche would he be if he confessed to always having feeling for her while she’s involved with someone else?

So instead he sulked and admired from afar... or not so ‘afar’ as it were, since he and Sansa had gotten even closer in terms of friendship since Robb married Rhaenys and moved south to Dorne.

Anyway, tonight is THE night. He can feel it. She’d recently broken up with Harry but even Sansa has admitted to him that it was a long time coming AND he’d just gotten off the phone to her asking him to come over because she has something she wants to show him.

What it actually _is_ that she wants to show him, he does not know. Oh, he can _imagine_. But then he’s been imagining _a hell of a lot_ when it comes to Sansa Stark.

It’s probably a new craft she’s learnt. She is forever finding things to try through YouTube tutorials. Just last month she taught herself to crochet and made him a blanket. It still kind of has that Sansa smell to it which Jon totally _doesn’t_ hold to his nose like some sort of lovesick dork. (He does.)

With nerves all a-jumble as he pulls up to her little ground-floor flat, Jon prays to the Gods that he doesn’t believe in that he’s not about to a) make an absolute fool of himself and b) completely ruin the friendship that means the most to him right now. Maybe he would completely chicken out of this if it hadn’t been the little glimmers of hope he’s seen over the years; the way she’d look at him sometimes, an invitation in her eyes, the way she’s so tactile with him... the way she’s never called him out when she’s caught him staring at her ass.

 _God-damn_ , she has a nice ass.

_Alright, Seven Hells, Jon. Get a grip!_

The motion detector light Sansa has above her front door turns on as he approaches and her door swings open before he has a chance to even reach for the doorbell. Jon’s kind of abashed that he startles a little. His head’s not in the game yet and there she stands in all her glory – holding the power to make him elated or miserable.

“Sorry,” Sansa winces, noticing how her quick-to-answer actions had made him jump. “It’s just that he doesn’t like a lot of the noises of the house... or outside. The doorbell would’ve really freaked him out so-”

“He?” Jon asks, stepping over her threshold and ridding himself of his coat to hang on her hooks. “You get a dog or something?”

She looks nervous. Why is she nervous? “Err... no, not a dog.”

She’s twiddling with her fingers as she glances behind herself towards the lounge and back to Jon.

“Sansa?” Jon scoops up her hands and holds them gently. He gives them a squeeze and hopes that she knows what that squeeze means – that whatever that’s got her nervous, he’ll be there, he’ll help her through whatever it is. He’d do _anything_ for her. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Her earnest eyes glaze over a little as she blinks at him. She does that sometimes – Jon _thinks_ it’s a reaction to the endearment and he’s ashamed to admit that he calls her ‘sweetheart’ at any opportunity he gets just to see her shiver or bite down on her lip.

She’s moving close now. Her mouth parts, drawing him in like a moth to the flame. He leans closer still, about to close his eyes and just – _go for it_. Maybe he doesn’t need words right now? Maybe he should just show her? Lay all the years of yearning out in one searing kiss.

What will she taste like?

Will it make her moan into his mouth?

Will she grasp at his hair? Tug a little? Pull him ever closer until there couldn’t possibly be any space left between them?

“I tossed a coin,” she whispers, eyes glued to his lips.

Jon’s brain switches tracks – slowly, and confusingly. Where is this current track going? “What?”

Jon watches Sansa shake herself out from under whatever spell they’d both cast here in her little entrance hallway.

_Way to go, dumbass. She’s barely broken up from her boyfriend and you can’t step one foot over threshold without wanting to shove your tongue down her throat?_

“I tossed a coin in the water,” Sansa repeats, making some space between them both. “At the hotsprings up at the old castle ruin.”

Jon was lost. “Okay?”

“And I made a wish and.... I think it came true?” Jon nods but Sansa is back to glancing behind herself, back toward her lounge.

Jon doesn’t believe in fate and wishes and all that gubbins. But Sansa does, so he’ll humour her. “What did you wish?”

Sansa’s twiddling with her fingers again. “I wished to fall in love,” she states quietly. “I wished for a good man who definitely, _without question_ loves me back... in a romantic way, not like a friend.”

Ok, that last part was definitely aimed at him. Jon stutters, his foot jutting forward and his hand reaching out. He needs to tell her – he needs to tell her NOW. “Sansa, I-“

There’s an almighty crash in the lounge making Sansa spin and leave to go and see to the commotion. What on earth is it? Did she adopt a wild animal or something? That sounds exactly like something Sansa Stark would do. Jon follows, curious.

What he sees when he rounds the corner is not a wild animal... but a man; a man dressed very oddly and wielding a big-ass sword. “What the fuck?” Suddenly, the sword is aimed at him. Jon grabs for Sansa and yanks her behind himself. “Take what you want, man, but you can think fucking twice if you think you’re touching her.” His heart was racing.

“Unhand her!” The man orders. He’s dressed in some kind of medieval-renaissance-fayre-cosplay-get-up with leather and furs and riding boots and shit and-... apart from the scars on his face... looks... _exactly like Jon?_

Sansa steps out from behind him with her hands raised but Jon doesn’t really notice – he’s too busy having some sort of mental breakdown as he stares at his doppelganger, mouth agape.

“It’s ok, Jon, it’s alright,” she says, cooing at the Lord-of-the-Rings-cosplayer version of himself like he was the wounded wild animal that Jon had previously envisioned Sansa adopting. “Lower your sword,” she urges gently. “This is my friend, Jon – like I told you. The one that looks exactly like you! Do you remember?”

The medieval imposter’s shoulders seem to release their tension under that big-ass dead badger or whatever the fuck it is he’s wearing. “Aye,” he says with a chuckle. “It is good to meet you, Jon.” He sheathes his sword and steps forward, offering his hand. “I am Jon, Jon Snow.”

In part daze, part confusion and a whole heap of _what the fuckity-fuck?!?!_ , Jon finds himself shaking the weirdo’s hand before pulling himself out of it. “Wait, what? No you’re not. _I’m_ Jon Snow. Sansa,” he says, turning to her, “what is this? What’s going on?”

_Am I tripping on something I don’t even remember taking?_

“It’s like I told you, Jon. I tossed a coin into the hotspings and made a wish. I wished for someone to love me and then Jon appeared from behind the weirwood tree. At first I thought it was you pulling some weird prank,” she says, kneeling to pick up the broken pieces of her vase that medieval-boy here clearly knocked off with his admittedly cool sword. The doppelganger knelt too to help her, a bashful sort of smile on his face when their eyes met. Jon did not like it. “But then I called you,” she says, wrenching her eyes away from the other Jon to look up at him. “Do you remember? Earlier today? I called and when you’d answered, I distractedly said I’d forgotten why I’d called?”

Yeah – he remembers. He’d thought – _hoped_ \- that she had wanted to confess some deep, burning love for him only for her courage to dry up when she’d squeaked at hearing his voice. It hadn’t occurred to him that she was just verifying that there were indeed two of him now. How silly of him.

“My apologies for the breakage,” the other Jon murmurs to Sansa, “your magic tablet came alive with sound and light and began moving across the surface in a rhythmic dance. I was unsure of the entity it would conjure and so drew my sword. I hope you can forgive me?”

“My phone,” Sansa mutters to herself in realisation. She reaches for it as it laid there on her coffee table. “I’d better put this on silent and turn off the vibration alerts,” she says with a smile aimed at middle-ages-moron next to her.

Jon purses his lips and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Okay, what is this?” If this is some kind of prank, he was over it yesterday.

Fur-boy stands and sighs. “I don’t claim to be knowledgeable in things such as these,” he starts in an admittedly gruff voice that Jon kind of hates. “All I know is that in my second lifetime, I didn’t get the chance to love Sansa as I’d wanted. We thought each other to be siblings and when I died again, I thought it was to be my last time...” he turns, giving Sansa a moon-struck look. “And I died wishing I could have loved you the way my heart wanted to.” Sansa’s answering expression looks as though her insides have gone all gooey.

“ _Wait – wait – wait!”_ Jon – _the real Jon_ – says, stepping in between the two now. “First of all, you had the hots for your sister?”

Cosplay-Jon’s eyes don’t leave Sansa’s as he nods solemnly.

“Ok... just sayin’... kinda gross.” That earns him a playful slap on the shoulder from Sansa. “What?! It is! Secondly... what’s this about a _‘second life’_ and _‘died again’_?”

“I have danced death’s steps twice,” the other Jon says. “The first time I was brought back I knew my purpose was to protect her,” the damn man is looking Sansa again. “And this being the second, I fully believe that it is to love her properly this time.”

This guy has really lost his fucking mind. “Hold on there, buddy,” Jon says, squaring his shoulders. “Sansa isn’t yours to love, she’s-“ He glances at her, his heart thudding painfully against his ribs at her expectant expression. “Well.... she’s – can I talk to you in private a minute?” he says, ushering Sansa out of the room and back into the hallway. “You have to get rid of him, he’s a few slices short of a pizza.”

Sansa chuckles. “What?”

“Sansa, he’s an absolute nutter!”

“No, he’s not! He’s telling the truth, Jon!”

They both turn to peer back into Sansa’s lounge to see medieval-land boy picking up her TV remote with two tentative fingers and studying it like it had just landed from outer space.

Jon shoves his fingers up under his glasses and rubs at his eyes in exasperation. “Sansa, this dude went LARPing and bumped his head or something, shit – I don’t know, but this is all _insane_!”

She’s not even looking at him as he talks. She’s practically drooling at his doppelganger with hearts in her eyes as the lunatic in leather armour settles on her couch with his big-ass cloak, his hands curled around one of Sansa’s mugs (black with gold writing that says ‘Boss Bitch’ and little pink hearts). He takes a tentative sip of whatever it is that Sansa had made for him while he continues to study the room he finds himself in.

This is ridiculous. He thought this was his time! He never envisioned that he’d lose her to... _himself_?... himself but with a big-ass-sword?

_Seven-fucking-hells!_


End file.
